The Christmas Hunter

During my college days I would try to find employment for the Christmas holidays wherever I could.  I delivered flowers once, but this particular holiday I got a job at a local department store, Richards.  One of my friends, Bob, was known as The Hunter.  This was at a time when everybody our age had a bestowed nickname.  I’m not exactly sure how The Hunter got his handle but it sort of fit him.  Picture a large burly kid with thin reddish blonde hair and a bit of a pot belly and you have The Hunter.  He was about six feet tall and weighed in at around 240 pounds.  His skin was dry and appeared wrinkled.  He looked older than his years.  When we were too young to buy beer we would send The Hunter in and he was rarely questioned.

The Hunter also got a job at Richards for the holidays.  As seasonal help we filled in wherever they needed someone.  On Christmas Eve the word was passed among the employees that there was food and beverages being served up in the furniture department.  I guess nobody thinks to buy furniture as a present so this department was nearly vacant.  Back in one corner a dressing screen had been pulled out to provide some form of visual security to the baked goods and punch laid out on one of the dressers.  In a dresser drawer there was a full complement of hard liquor.

The Hunter and I made regular trips to the third floor furniture department throughout the day.  The store closed early.  We had been invited to a party by one of the girls at the store so we picked up one more character, Marty and made our way to the festivities.  Shortly after arriving it became apparent that The Hunter was not going to be able to stay long since the alcohol seemed to be having its way with him.  He was giggling and acting funny.

Not long after leaving the party we started our fateful journey home.  Our trip took us by one of the first topless bars in Miami, The Tomboy Club featuring “Bambi the Body.”  Someone, not me, announced that club as our new destination.  Whoever it was didn’t have to do too much arm twisting and we soon found ourselves, on Christmas Eve, facing a topless dancer in a cage behind the bar.  The place wasn’t busy and our fake IDs didn’t get too much scrutiny.

Postcard From the Old Tomboy Club in Miami

 

Marty and I made the mistake of carrying on a conversation and not paying attention to The Hunter.  He was sitting eerily quiet staring intently at the half naked dancer before him.  The music was playing and we were just thrilled to be there.  To paraphrase Twas the Night Before Christmas, “when all of a sudden there arose such a clatter.”  The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion.  The Hunter made an incredible athletic move that defied his large frame.  He had jumped from his stool and, steadying himself with one hand on the bar, had managed to grab one of the ropes that were the dancer’s cage.  He was going to have his way with her, or so it would appear.  He then released the rope and his outstretched arm groped for a handful of dancer.  It came up with a fist full of air.  It was here that he lost his balance and fell in a heap behind the bar.  Seconds later all three of us found ourselves in the parking lot.

Marty and I came to our senses and decided it was time to get The Hunter home.  The Hunter lived with his parents along with a younger brother and even younger sister.  It was late and the house was dark.  The Hunter was now half asleep and groggy.  We searched for his house keys and came up empty.  After a slurred Q&A period with the prodigal son we learned of a spare key at the side garage door entrance.  We did our best to steady The Hunter and got him to the side yard.

We found the key and opened the side door only to discover that, in addition to the known family members, they had a Dachshund.  Not just one female Dachshund but also a small herd of little puppy Dachshunds.  They all bolted through the open door.  We now had a drunken Hunter lying very Gulliver-like in the grass surrounded by a gaggle of Lilliputian sized wiener dogs who were heading for parts unknown.

A roundup of yapping wiener dogs would be difficult enough in daylight, sober.  Try to imagine doing it in the dark, drunk.  After much wrangling and perhaps twenty minutes running around in the wet grass we managed to get the herd under control and locked in the garage.

Literally exhausted we then got The Hunter vertical and into the living room.  We deposited him on the large couch and slipped away.

Marty got the panicked call the next day.  He then called me and just told me to pick him up.  We had to get over to The Hunter’s place.  We knocked on the door and were greeted with the embodiment of the former Hunter.  He looked horrible and smelled even worse.  He had a note pinned to his undershirt.  We entered the house.  The living room looked like spring break Sunday morning at the frat house.

We put together a chain of events helped out in part with the note still hanging on The Hunter.  The Big Guy awoke during the early morning hours and was disoriented.  He needed to get to the bathroom in a hurry.  He stumbled over the coffee table and several of the Christmas presents that Santa had left for his younger siblings.  He then wound up crashing head-first into the Christmas tree.  The toppled and smashed Christmas tree then became the epicenter for what had to be some major projectile vomiting.  He had very quickly "decorated" the tree, the walls, the presents and in fact anything within a six foot radius.  His parents awoke to find the apple of their eye drunk on his ass in the middle of their Christmas tree covered in vomit.

The note then provided the postscript which was that the parents, fearing years of psychiatric counsel for his siblings, gathered them up and headed to the airport to enjoy Christmas with the grandparents.  The note went on to say that the house needed to be restored to its pre-vomit condition or that he would suffer the consequences.

We then did what friends do in such instances.  We found a convenience store that was open on Christmas, bought a couple of six packs and returned to cheer on The Hunter with his clean up.  I think I remember helping hose down the Christmas tree in the back yard.